A Son's Calling
by Nervert
Summary: Nine-year-old Jack Bartowski has a lot on his mind, like what happened to his father and what to make of his mysterious life.  Is there some bigger picture that it all fits into?  Read and find out.


**A/N:** Sorry to frustrate the few of you that are waiting for another chapter to "Revenge of the Bartowski" but this little drabble just came out of nowhere. If it makes it any better, it only took one lunch hour to write so I didn't take much time away from other stuff. And have no fear, I'm still writing on "Revenge" and have the rest of the story all mapped out to the end. Anyway, enjoy:)

* * *

><p>Jack Bartowski had come to discover that his brain was a nocturnal creature, waking from its idleness the same time every night. His mother would smile at him, ruffle his hair, say those important words "I love you, sweetie; goodnight," before turning out the light, then *click* his skull would hum to life. He wouldn't have minded if all those thrumming neurons would produce whimsy, adventure, and the things Disney cartoons implied you should dream about, but that was not his mind. <em>His<em> would fussily fixate on the most unsolvable puzzles, gnawing at them devotedly with little progress, as there were few resources in the bedroom's darkness. His father, he knew, had been the same.

And, it just so happened, his father was the puzzle _du jour_. What had happened to the late Charles Irving Bartowski? He'd asked his mom a few times, instinctively knowing when she would be most forthcoming, but her answers were as informative as they were long.

"Sometimes good people die before their time and there's no rhyme or reason why."

She would stroke his face, seeing something there which brought a pang of sadness to her serene features. Only for a moment, though, then her smile was back and the subject changed.

What he did know about his father he had learned from an overheard conversation several months before, between his mother and a deep voiced man he knew only as Casey. The man had come over after Jack had gone to bed and the two adults had stayed up late, talking and drinking — bourbon, if his nose had been accurate when his mom had come by to check on him. As usual, she had been unable to tell he was faking sleep.

He'd learned that his father, Chuck, as both his mother and the grumbly man referred to him, had died nine years previously, a few months before he, John Walker Bartowski, or Jack to his mom, had been born. His dad had been a computer and electronics whiz — genius had been the word his mother had used — despite puzzlingly being proficient in many forms of combat. The stories they told made him sound like some special ops superhero. Whatever he was, one thing was for sure: both of them thought the world of Chuck Bartowski, giving many a toast followed by long, reverent pauses.

The conversation hadn't just been about his father though. The Grumblyman and his mom had discussed several other things that night, things with comic book sounding names like Orion, Frost, Smokescreen, Hydra, the Intersect and finally, in hushed frightened tones, something called Cloud Net. The conversation had gotten weird at that point, the two adults taking the line of it in several directions that made little sense. The only thing he had gleaned was that this thing was dangerous and the two of them had wanted it destroyed. The next morning he'd found his mom packing their belongings, doing her best to hide a hangover.

They moved a lot, he and his mom. He loved her and would follow her anywhere but it didn't make it any less difficult. For one thing, making friends was nearly impossible, although at the same time, it hurt less to leave. Remembering identities could be tricky too, especially right after a move, but his mom had taught him techniques to help with that. The bullies were the toughest; they always came for the new kid. Not that he feared them in the slightest but it was difficult not to use what his mom had taught him to take them apart like broken clocks.

"You don't use these things I teach you unless your life is in danger. Got it?"

She'd said it regularly and with the unblinking intensity that he knew she meant it. The stupid thugs might have been asking for a beat down, but the truth was, he was more afraid of his mother's glare-of-death then their pathetic cheap shots, any day.

It left him under a dark cloud of frustration, that was for sure. He was drilled relentlessly in hand-to-hand combat, firearms, improvised explosives, etcetera, but like with the bullies, he never got to use any of it. Why learn it at all? These loose-end questions nagged him incessantly, his hound-on-a-scent mind unable to leave them alone … especially now as he lay in bed with the light out. If only his mother knew what a few straight answers would do for his sleep.

It was quite a story though, wasn't it? His father dead before he'd been born, his whole life immersed in guerilla combat training and secrecy, he and his mother on the run from an enigmatic network. It was almost like …

_No!_

A tingle ran up his spine

_Oh my god! NO! OH. MY. GOD! That's it! It isn't just a story; it's really true._

Waves of hot and cold flowed over his skin. He shivered with the revelation blooming in his nine-year-old mind, connecting all the pieces. How had he never seen it before? Why had his mother never told him? Ah, because she was testing him. That must be it. She was waiting till he was ready to comprehend it all, to come to it on his own. He tore off the covers and raced to the kitchen, not wanting to wait another moment to tell her he was ready. He found her putting his lunch together for school, a knife, loaded with peanut butter, paused above bread.

"Jack? You okay? What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter. I've figured it out. All the training and the running, it was for a purpose, wasn't it? I know my destiny now! You can tell me everything!"

"Uh sweetie, did you have another dream?" Her brows came together, drawing a line between them.

"Mom! You don't have to hide it anymore. I'm ready for it. I'm ready for the responsibility."

"Uh-huh. Responsibility … and what would that be?" Concern deepened on her face.

Jack exploded in a rush. "Our last name isn't Bartowski is it? It's Connor. I'm John Connor and you're Sarah Connor and Cloud Net is Skynet and we're running from the Terminators and I'm going to save the world from the Cyberdyne overlords!"

His mom clapped her hand to her mouth, her shoulders suddenly shaking with what he could only assume was pride. Then a high, sparkling laughter emerged from behind her hand and she reached out pull him into one of her I-love-you-so-much hugs.

"John Walker Bartowski, don't you ever change! You are truly the light in my life. Do you know how proud your father would be?"

She released him, looking down at him with both tears and laughter in her eyes.

"Wait till your Uncle Morgan hears about this."


End file.
